The Arkansaw traveler., 1887-12-10
4 mYSTERY INDEED.


 out it's bitterness? But wherein my sorrow differed from most was this, that it was all concentrated in one blow, as if in compensation for the un- broken happiness which had preceded it. For me there had been one day followed by night which know can never give place to day again, until the eternal day dawns.
 But am not about to write my own story-it will never be written. Yet but for my own story should not have the other to tell came across some lines the other day that exactly express my case, and it's rela- tion to that of another.
 "Once sat on q crimson throne
 And held the world in fee.
 Below me heard my brothers moan,
 And bent me down to see;
 Lovingly bent and looked at them,
 But had no inward pain.
 sat in the heart of my ruby gem,
 Like the rainbow without the rain.
 
 My throne is vanished; helpless I lie
 At the foot of it's broken stair;
 And the sorrows of all humanity
 phrough my heart make thoroughfare" It was this sympathy, born in the darkness of my own despair, which brought me into close relations with Elsa Cunningham, and thus gave me the weird experience 1 am about to narrate.
 It was at Zermatt that I first met her. She was staying with her hus- band and little son at the same hotel as myself. 1 had come there to chaperon my niece, Rhoda Thompson, who was an enthusiastic climber, and had with her made most of the ascents at all possible to women. MT. Con- ingham was member of the Alpine Club, and chose to express admiration of our exploits. We were thrown a great deal together, for we not only made the same party in several expe- ditions, but when we were confined to our hotel by weather, Mir. Cunningham would read aloud to us altogether, or with his boy between his knees tell one story after another of lively ad- venture.
 At these times Elsa Gas learned to call her) would appear fully at peace, if not absolutely happy; but coming upon her alone 1 noticed a look of troubled anxiety on her face. She was pretty woman, about thirty, think, but never was told her age-and she had the most sensitive face in the world. She was French, though her husband was English, and she spoke the prettiest broken English ,imagina- ble. Her husband adored her her child was beautiful and strong. She was evidently tavorite of Fortune. Yet certainly detected in her dark, restless eyes something very like fear. think from the first she knew that saw in her what others did not, and she was grateful tor my unspoken sympathy, for sometimes she would slip her fiuttering little hand into mine, where it would rest for minutes together, and then she would gaze out at the mountain peaks with unuttera- ble sadness. She never made any of the ascents, being too timid, but re- mained with her boy.
 One evening Mrs. Cunningham and were watching for the return of her husband and his party. My niece and two other ladies were with them. had remained behind at Mrs. Coming hams request-the first request she had made me. "Mamma is afraid ot going to sleep, I think" whispered little Carl. "It makes her so ill to go to sleep sometimes"
 1 smiled for answer to this odd speech, but even as smiled an alarm could not account for seized me, and I looked towards the child's mother. She had swooned.
 hastily took up glass of water, which happened to be upon the table, and was about to sprinkle her face when Carl put back my hand with his small fingers, saying, with the strang- est look ever saw on child's face "No, Miss Thompson, it is no use to try to wake mamma when she goes to sleep so. Papa holds her hand till she wakes-she is afraid when she first wakes"
 did make an effort to rouse her however, which was of no avail.
 "I told you so," said little Carl iI triumph. "You sit and hold mamma's hand and when she wakes say Elsa very softly" +1
 I sat down as directed, and took the little, delicate hand within mine.
 "Carl," I said in alarm, ssare you qnif6 sure your mother Is often like this, and that she wakes all right7"
 "I have told thee so," replied tho child with quiet dignity. Gle some.